I was backpacking in the interiors of Tamil Nadu, travelling in local rickety state buses and sleeper class trains. I didn’t know the local language but somehow I was able to convey whatever I wanted to say.
I don’t know when I contracted this deadly and incurable condition, but I am not complaining. I was probably born with it and it just took over my body and soul at some point in time. I know I am not the only one. There are many out there afflicted with this, irrespective of the gender, nationality or creed and I know a few of them too, who have given up everything else to dedicate themselves to this condition known as travelling. Yes I am talking about the TRUE WANDERER bug.
By Vasu:- What do you do when you are stranded in the middle of nowhere? Well not exactly nowhere, we knew where we were, but that did not help. I was living in Plano for the last few weeks and it was normal for us guys from India to impose ourselves on the generosity of the friends already in the US especially when we had to be driven around and why not!
So here we are driving along at a brisk pace, there was some traffic but all moving fast. My colleague and I are discussing some aspects of the project we were working on. In due course our conversation is more animated that we almost miss hearing a splutter and another and another and ….. Ooops.
The car stops. Luckily we are not on freeways, tollways, parkways or any of those special American ways, which could have made the matter worse.. We look at each other and at the fuel indicator showing E. We burst out laughing and that was good because in another 60 minutes we have to be in an important meeting and it is not going to help being frustrated and in bad mood.
If you are like me then the very mention of travel will make you want to experience something new. Each travel is a story by itself by stringing together all the events, good or bad. Some, you would like to learn a lesson from, and then forget about it; others, you would like to cherish lifelong.
Getting things stolen, misplacing or losing stuff is part and parcel of travel and you would like to take those extra precautions against it happening. Generally when you lose something, it is either gone for good or turns up in one corner of your luggage the next day.
Here is a story that offers a different ending. Lost and Found.
Travelling is counting number of memories, not places.
That’s my tag-line. If you read my profile anywhere, this is what I always maintain. For me memories of a journey are far more important & cherishable than places. Places change their shapes, sizes and the looks with time. Memories never. – – – – – – “Excuse me; can I help this lady in some way?” I asked a woman standing behind the push cart pointing towards an old woman, her neighbour, who looked dazed sitting behind another food stall.
February, 2010. Seven in the evening, I was in night market at Krabi, Thailand where I stayed for a fortnight while solo backpacking in South East Asia. Being alone, I had all the time in the world exploring things around me and it was my second day here.
“What?” “Yeah, I would like to help that woman sell her things”.